Chapter III: Part 3

Dan would stretch himself, yawn, and indicate by this that he, too, was ready. He would sit beside the driver, and off they would go through the early dawn and the frosty air.

Dan was always pleased when they delivered milk to houses where there were little children, and at the hospitals where the patients were waiting to have it for their breakfasts. At one house the driver would leave a double portion, because there were twin boys there. Dan hoped that some day he would get to see these little boys. Then one day something happened that they were delayed. It was later than usual when they were returning home, and, as they were passing by the house where the twins lived, Dan had his wish, for there they were, sitting on the lawn. Each had a bottle of milk, and they were drinking away as contentedly as could be.

How happy Dan was to think he had helped in this way to furnish food for those adorable twins!

They drove on down the street and passed the children’s hospital. There, out in the sun, he caught a glimpse of wheeled chairs with children in them. On stands beside many of them were glasses of milk, perhaps from Dan’s dairy. (At least he felt a proprietary interest in it.) Also at the school-lunch counters, he saw the children drinking milk. Then he got to thinking, what if he did have to work rather hard bringing up the cows and helping around the barn, wasn’t it worth while? What would become of all these children if he didn’t work?

The other dogs hoped he would keep on at his present occupation, as most of them liked milk themselves. Especially were Pixie and Petite anxious that there should always be milk for making the good things of which they were fond.

Few of them had ever seen the milkman’s dog before, as he made his trips before it was their hour for rising. They were eager for him to tell more about himself and his family, so he promised to tell the story of his grandfather, Sandy, who had been a useful and faithful member of dogdom.

In the days of horse-drawn vehicles, some dogs had a foolish habit of running in front of every horse they saw coming, and barking at their heels. Of course, none of the dogs in this group knew anything about this bad habit. It was before their day. Now, Sandy despised this ill-mannered action, and would stop it every time he had a chance. The young dogs on the place where he lived wouldn’t have dared to do it. He had them trained. But some other dogs were not so well raised. Sitting at the corner where two roads crossed, he would watch, and, whenever a dog would start barking at a horse, he would go after the dog and give him what he deserved.

THE WHIPPETS

One evening, while the story-telling class was in session, there came into the park two men and two dogs. All looked tired and dusty, as if they had come a long way afoot.

The men threw themselves down on the grass to rest. The dogs, who were different from the usual park types, were lean and graceful, clean-cut racers. They were whippets, or, as some call them, “snap dogs.”

They were indeed tired and had come a long distance to rest. After taking a drink from the fountain, they too stretched out beside the men to take a nap. But, being unable to sleep after the thrilling experiences of the day, they started up and began investigating the park and the people in it. First they visited the different groups and watched the children at play. Then they wandered over to the corner where the dog’s court was in session.

The whippets had just come from a country fair, which was being held in an adjoining county. There, besides the horse races and automobile races, one of the attractions was a whippet race, in which they had taken part.

They approached the court corner, and stood at a respectful distance until Ruby was through with a story she was telling about two little Skyes. During the applause, the whippets drew nearer. In making observations as to the size of the dogs assembled there, they noticed that the Judge was a much larger dog than they were. Also there were others there that would be more than a match for them should any unpleasantness arise. They, however, could get away from the others, with no danger of being overtaken, so swiftly could they run.

As the Judge exhibited only the friendliest feelings toward them in his welcome, they joined the circle. This, thought the Judge, is to be a test of the sincerity of the desire of the dogs in the class “to live and let live,” and he was much pleased with their behavior. The good seed he was trying to sow was taking root, and they were losing some of their selfishness.

The story which Ruby had just finished was about two little Skyes, one of whom was vain and jealous; so, if Ruby could realize how wrong it was to permit such feelings to exist in one’s nature, it was a good indication that the Judge’s plan was a good one, and they would all be better dogs for it.

The dogs all agreed to have the whippets with them during their stay in the park. The Princess recognized in them distant cousins. She too could do some sprinting when occasion called for it.

The whippets, looking the crowd over, and scenting nothing to eat at this picnic, concluded, if these other dogs could have such a gathering in a park without eating, there must be something else very absorbing about it to hold them; so they decided to remain.

When they were asked how they came to be racing dogs, one of them, who was less bashful than the other, told of their being trained when they were puppies for this very thing. They were encouraged to play tug-of-war--which all little pups love to do--and they were given a strong piece of cloth, or a rubber shoe, and they would pull and pull. This strengthened their muscles. Then a ball was thrown for them to run for, and the one who returned with it was given something to eat. Then two balls would be thrown and they would race after them. The one who had to go the farthest was rewarded. As they grew larger, they were taken on long hikes over the fields and country roads, where they would chase rabbits or any game they could scare up.

Later, they began racing with horses and bicycles, farther and farther each time, until they could run two hundred yards, the handicap distance.

One sorry thing about being a whippet is that these dogs never get to eat all they would like, as their weight must be kept down to fourteen pounds, or they become too heavy to run.

At the Fair it was advertised that the Whippet Brothers, famous racers, were to run and had challenged two other equally swift dogs for the race. A large purse was made up and the betting became lively. The other two whippets were not brothers, and were unused to team work, but, in every other respect, they were a match for the brothers, being of the same weight and age, and having had the same training and all.

The bout was set for the morning, before the horse racing started. The crowd gathered around the grand stand, from where the dogs were to start. Each dog had been groomed and sleeked and their feathery tails were combed. All were clean-cut, snappy little dogs, ready for the start. The crowd was roped off on each side of the track. Then, one, two, three, the gong sounded, and they were off. Neck and neck they went until halfway to the goal, when one of the odd dogs crossed to the center of the track to get a better footing. This distracted his running mate for one fatal second. His partner leaving him alone on the off side of the road made this dog lose his grip on himself. He, too, tried to change his position, but in doing so, he tripped and fell head on. Gathering himself up, he came limping after the racing dogs. Of course he lost out, but he was game to the end. The other three kept pace, on and on, until within a foot of the goal, when the odd dog shot across the line, amid the cheers and shouts of the onlookers. The Whippet Brothers lost the race, but it made no difference to them that their backers had lost money on them; they had done their best and had played a clean game.

Running back to where the lame dog was, they both licked his sore leg and showed their sympathy. They were much better sports than their masters, who grudgingly lost to the other men, and took their ill will out on the dogs, kicking and abusing them, and, tired as they were, bringing them the whole distance to this town.

During the description of this race, the group of dogs became so excited that it was all the police dog could do to prevent a small riot. The dogs who had any racing instinct in them, like the Princess and Gyp, could scarcely make their legs behave during the narration. All were whining and yelping, and jumping up and down. It was useless to think of their quieting down again, so they were dismissed.

All clamored for more from the whippets, who, traveling as they did, knew some very interesting stories; and they agreed, if their masters remained in this place long enough, and if the kind-hearted dogs really desired them to do so, they would tell the story of two setters and a mastiff they knew about.

The whippets did remain over for another day, and they were on hand for the next session of the story-telling class. They were called on to tell their story first. They said it was a sad one, and they thought it was too bad that all dogs could not have the advantages of the good training these dogs were getting. Also, if they could do anything toward making the world better, they meant to try, always keeping their motto in mind.

FIRE-FIGHTING DOGS

JESS THE FIRE COMPANY’S DOG

Jess, who was the fire company’s dog, was anxious to get as many of the dogs as he possibly could interested in joining the “Fire Brigade.” Membership in this organization was open only to dogs who were brave enough to risk their lives to protect life and property when these were endangered by fire.

Jess had been the first dog to join, having become a member by adoption of the city “Protective League,” and a life member of the city Fire Department. Jess had a good record in his home town for courage, and this helped to establish him in this place, and at once he began working for the interests of the Brigade.

He read to the dogs a report of some of the cases he had found among their fellow dogs, saying he felt encouraged that there would be no difficulty in enrolling a large percentage of the dogs.

Only that day he had heard of another case. A big retriever was often left in charge of a large home when the family was absent. He was never confined. He always had the range of the house. On this occasion the folks left early, to be gone all day. Not long after their departure, the neighbors heard the dog barking. Looking toward the house, they saw smoke issuing from the roof. The alarm was turned in, and soon everything was out of the house.

But the dog refused to leave. Returning to the gutted house, he stationed himself on guard until his master came home. The smoke and the excitement, however, were too much for him. He survived the fire, the falling timbers and the heat, but his lungs had become so inflamed from the smoke that he died.

“Such heroism,” said the Fire Brigade’s chief, “gets into our blood and makes all of us want to do something great.”

The only requirement, in order to become a member of this noble order, was to report some act performed in prevention of fire or loss of life. All of the dogs agreed to keep their eyes open for opportunities to do something in this line.

BILL BECOMES A MEMBER

The very next day the Boston bull had his chance. He belonged to a young bachelor who lived alone, with only his faithful dog, Bill, for company. Now Bill was a privileged character who had the run of the place, and, during the day, had to receive all comers. His owner was the best of masters, but he had one fault. He would smoke in bed, lighting his pipe and reading until he fell asleep. Bill never approved of this. He was always expecting something to happen, and himself slept with one eye open as long as he could. Then, one night something did happen. The lighted pipe fell out of the sleeping man’s mouth. Bill smelled smoke, and jumped up just in time to pull the burning pillow off the bed, thus saving his master’s life and home.

Bill became a member of the Fire Brigade.

THE FIRE BRIGADE

We hear many stories of dogs being the means of saving property and lives in times of fire. They seem never to lose their heads, as it were, but generally do the most sensible thing under the circumstances.

Here are some instances of heroic efforts on the part of these little benefactors, in recognition of which they are being enrolled in the Fire Brigade.

Lady, a German police dog, who will be the only member of our company of her sex, is entitled to first place on the list. She put out a fire all by herself in a most heroic manner. Left alone in the house, she discovered a burning paper under a gasoline stove. Drawing the fire to her, she tore the paper to bits, pawing it until the fire was out. In so doing she burned her nose and paws severely. When her mistress returned and sat down, the dog laid her head in the lap of her mistress and whined most pitifully with pain. Needless to say, her injuries were carefully anointed and bandaged.

Another member of the fire brigade won his honors by alarming the family when something from a shelf above fell down on the stove, catching fire from the lighted pilot. He was alone in the kitchen when it happened, and ran barking into the other part of the house, and then back to the kitchen, until he succeeded in getting the family to follow and put out the fire.

THE TRAMP DOG

And here is what was once a tramp dog, but we know he was not a tramp from choice. This dog did a good deed in return for a kindness shown him, in observance of the Golden Rule, which we should all remember.

This poor dog, who was alone in the world and desperately hungry, saw a man come out of a butcher shop with a package of meat. Hunger had made his sense of smell so keen that even at a respectful distance he knew the stranger was a fair prospect. So the dog trotted along behind the man until he reached his home.

The dog, being a tramp, knew his place was at the back door; so he lay there to wait until he should see some one come out to the garbage can, which soon happened. This person not only gave him the remains of the nice, juicy steak, but also spoke a kind word to him. Feeling that life was, after all, worth living, the dog decided to spend the night with these kindly people. During the night a fire broke out. The tramp, as he was called, ran to the window of the room where the man slept, and awakened him just in time to save his home.

Needless to say, he was no longer a tramp dog.

SMALL BUT BRAVE

A lady was making a call on a neighbor next door, leaving her husband asleep on the bed, and her small dog to keep guard during her absence. She felt that all was secure. However, she had hung some stockings over the gas oven to dry, leaving the gas turned on. The oven became very hot and set fire to the stockings, and the flames spread to the window curtains. The dog, seeing what had happened, ran to the bed barking, but failed to arouse his master. Then he caught the covers in his teeth and pulled them off the sleeping man, who awoke just in time to save their home from a bad fire.

DUKE

A dog named Duke saved a large factory from being burned by giving the alarm to the watchman. The man and the dog had just made the rounds and had seen that everything was all right. Then, after the watchman had punched the time clock, they left that part of the factory for another. The dog, who was watching every move that his master made, returned with him to the office from where they started. There they settled down to take a nap, until the alarm clock would arouse them to make the next round.

The watchman, who was a sound sleeper, was soon snoring away, but not so with Duke. He seemed nervous and alert to every sound. In a few minutes he sprang up and barked loudly, waking his master, and ran to the door in an excited manner. The watchman, on going outside, saw a bright light at one corner of the factory. Running to this spot, he saw two men hurriedly leaving, with the dog in pursuit.

He turned in the fire alarm, and when he telephoned to the police headquarters, what he heard in reply was, “Men taken. Holding your dog for identification.” When Duke was reinstated at the factory, he was given a new brass-mounted collar. He was also given a pension for life for having performed this noble deed. This fine fellow is doubly welcome in the Fire Brigade.

JESS

In one of the smaller cities is a fire company that has a tawny-colored Irish setter named Jess, who is a great favorite with all of the men. Jess knows all the “ins and outs” of the fire-fighting business, and is as helpful as it is possible for him to be. When there is no call for action, he lies contentedly in the sun waiting for the summons to duty.

When an alarm is sent in, Jess is the first to respond. He runs first to one and then to another of the men, spurring them on to action and haste. Then he jumps into the chief’s car and seems to love to go tearing through the streets, having the right of way over everything. The ear-splitting screech of the siren is music to him. Arriving at the fire, he takes a position affording the best view, and where he will be the least hindrance to the firemen. He takes an intense interest in every move that is made.

Once he entered a burning building. Going in by the back door, he ran up the stairs in that part of the building and aroused a man who was asleep, thereby saving his life. It was for this that Jess became a life member of that fire company; he was serving without pay, just for the love of being useful. After a fire is put out, he rides home in triumph on the fire engine, wearing a fireman’s hat. Jess will be an honorary member of our “Fire Brigade” if everybody is willing.

THE JUDGE’S STORY

When the other dogs had finished with their stories, and the Judge was satisfied that they had done their best, he thanked them, and said he would now tell them some stories. First he would go back to his own family history, of which Bob was not able to tell a great deal, as he was young and not expected to take much interest in such things.

“The Airedales are a very old and famous family of dogs,” proceeded the Judge. “The name is romantic, having originated from a river in Yorkshire, England, the River Aire. It is something to be proud of, to have a name suggested by a river; and then, to have a dale, which means a valley, attached to it. I close my eyes,” said the Judge, “and imagine I can see that beautiful green valley, with the river winding through it, and my ancestors living so peacefully there, enjoying a free and easy life, chasing rabbits and rascally badgers, with which the hills are infested.

“It is said of the Airedales that they were good swimmers, and how they must have enjoyed a plunge in the River Aire on a warm day. They were trusty, too. Baby could be left in their care with safety. So many good qualities are seldom found in just one breed of dogs.

“While they were not noted for their beauty, nor for the sweetness of their voices, their many other good traits make amends for that. Beauty, after all, is only skin deep, and if there are no virtues below the surface to give it luster, it is not even skin deep. Whatever beauty the Airedale dog can lay claim to, is brought out by his inborn cleverness. Good deeds and good behavior have resulted in making a really homely dog into a world-wide favorite.”

While the Judge was making this modest claim for his clan, little Pixie hung her head and blushed with embarrassment to think that she had ever been ashamed to play with Bob, because of his personal appearance. She then and there resolved to be more courteous to both Bob and his father, of whom she was becoming very fond, thinking him a wise judge and a good counsellor for all dogs.

The Judge went on to say that it was recorded that one of his ancestors had won the first prize at a great dog show. The people of the country where this happened acclaimed him “King of the ring and King of the country.” Because of the fine qualities of the Airedales, he added, one of their number once became a member of the animal family at the White House, and was a favorite of the President of the United States and his lovely wife.

“Were medals to be issued to dogs for bravery in saving lives, the Airedale family would have many souvenirs to hand down to their children. A noted musician tells of his dog, Buster, having saved his wife’s life not only once, but five times.

“The almost human instinct of this tribe was manifested when one city was holding its election. One of the amendments to be voted on was the curtailing of the liberty of all dogs. To run at large, they must be muzzled, or they must be leashed when on the streets. Of course, all dog lovers were opposed to this measure. The dogs themselves, having heard so much discussion on the subject, seemed to sense that something was going to be done which concerned them.

“Such remarks as these were addressed to one Airedale, whose name was Jerry:

“‘Jerry, old pal, they are talking of interfering with your personal liberty, and not allowing you the run of the town, without a string tied to you. Now you must not think we are going to stand for any nonsense such as that. We will go down to the polls, Mother and all of us, and we’ll put this thing over strong, and show those dog haters a thing or two.’

“Jerry would look interested and try to wag his stiff tail, as much as to say he would like to do his bit to help. He had no vote, although there were some who had, who in his opinion were not deserving of it. One man he knew of hated dogs, and when he had something in him--Jerry did not know what--he was abusive to his dog--and also to the little boy who loved the dog. Yet that man was one of those who wanted all the dogs killed or tied up, and would vote for that cruel measure.

“Jerry slept over the matter, and when morning came, bright and early, he was at the polls. Taking up a position under the table where the workers were, he lay down, to see that everything was properly carried through. There he stayed until it was almost certain the dogs were going to win, when he left, satisfied that he was no longer needed.”

The Judge told the dogs they were all very fortunate to be living in this wonderful country, “where we are loved and well cared for, as there are many places where dogs are despised and mistreated, and even left to run wild, becoming scavengers, just because they are half starved. They fight and quarrel among themselves, and make the nights hideous with their howling. To be unloved and have no friends would be cause enough for howling.

“Then there are the Eskimo dogs. They too have a hard life, as they have to draw the sledges and do the work that horses and automobiles perform in this country. They are harnessed together with leather straps made from reindeer skin. There is also a long whip, made of thongs of the same leather, the lash of which is chewed by the women to make it pliable. Then it is braided to make the handle. This is lashed over the dogs’ backs to make them draw harder and go faster.”

“How terrible!” barked all of the dogs, shrugging their shoulders in pity.

“Probably their masters love these dogs, but this seems a strange way to show it. The people of that country are dependent on these faithful dogs, as they are the only means of transportation. They have no horses, no automobiles, and no airships--nothing but their dogs, so their very existence depends on these brave animals. We, with our loving masters and mistresses, can scarcely realize how differently these other dogs have to live. And how much they must miss being loved as we are!”

So much sympathy was expressed for the other kind of dog life that the Judge felt gratified to see that these getting-together parties the dogs were having were creating a good effect.

Even little Ruby, who seldom thought of anyone but herself, unless it was to envy some one, was becoming less selfish. “Oh, the poor things!” she exclaimed, licking her white forepaws while she was saying it. She gave those paws particular attention, and the habit was so strong with her that, perhaps, it didn’t lessen her sincerity.

The Judge told them he thought that, as not many of them ever had a chance to travel, he would tell them a story about one dog who was a great traveler, and also a very clever fellow. This dog was a setter and his name was Jack.

JACK THE TRAVELER

Mr. Wheeler’s home was broken up, for Mrs. Wheeler had passed away, leaving no one but her husband, as there were no children.

Mr. Wheeler was alone but not lonely, for he still had Jack, his faithful setter; and there was a cat, but she had been Mrs. Wheeler’s pet.

His dog Jack was a good hunting dog, and hunting was his master’s favorite sport. So they two, having similar tastes, were on intimate terms, and at all times were quite congenial.

After disposing of his little shop, Mr. Wheeler decided he would follow the trail to California. He purchased a Ford with money from the sale of his small stock of merchandise; he rented his home and, leaving the cat with the Widow Higgins, who lived next door, was ready to pack for the trip. His gun was cleaned, and his camping outfit made ready. All necessary equipment for an extended trip was gathered up, and a supply of provisions laid in.

How eager Jack was about all these preparations! He felt very important, too, having been given to understand that he was a partner in this enterprise.

Jack, being a pointer and setter, as most hunting dogs are, would _set_ in the evening, after the day’s work was done, with his nose pointed toward the setting sun, while he dreamed of the great times they would have when they did finally get started.

The cat was on hand and wanted to go along, it seemed. But Jack saw to it that she was left behind. He chased her up a tree and barked good-by to her.

Dogs of this kind, although loyal friends, are of one-track minds. In Jack’s mind was just one idea, and that was to be in the game with his master. He had no regrets at leaving the old home where he was born and raised. The master was all that counted. Home to him meant only to be able to eat out of his master’s hand and to lie at his master’s feet. That the dogs he was used to playing with would miss him, affected him not in the least.

Finally, Jack was perched on the seat beside Mr. Wheeler; the gun was handy; they were ready to go. Giving everything a final looking over, they started on their trek across the intervening states to California--gun, dog, man and pipe, all essential to each other’s happiness.

It was about the first of October, the most delightful time to travel. The days were ideal. The trees were in their most gorgeous fall colorings, yellows deepening into rich browns and tans, vivid scarlets softened to maroons; greens of every shade--one glorious riot of color.

The master’s eyes took in these autumnal glories, but most of the time they were fixed straight ahead on the road, to make sure of good going. As for Jack, what did he care for nature’s color scheme? The color of a chipmunk or a jack rabbit meant much more to him.

There were also many other things of interest to look at. Of course the dogs were the chief attraction. Jack had not known there were so many kinds. He saw big dogs and little dogs of every description; and, wonder of wonders, one small dog was actually being carried along the street in a lady’s arms! Another was all dressed up, with some kind of a coat on, and a brass collar. Poor things, to be so hampered!

In one town, he saw a little fluffy white thing coming down the street, with a ribbon bow on top of its head, just like the little Higgins girl wore. A dog dressed up like a girl! Could anything be worse? He tried to pat himself on the back, so glad was he that he was just a common dog.

School was out for the noon recess as they passed a large school building, and Jack was astonished at seeing so many children. He didn’t care particularly for children, not having been raised with them. He liked to romp with the little Higgins boys once in a while, when there was nothing more interesting, such as a hunting trip, on hand. Those boys were good sports, who could throw a ball just about right for him to see it stop, so he could get it easily and take it back to them. But this noisy, scrapping crowd--they might be all right, but he was glad there were none of them in his family.

Now they were leaving the town and, driving up under some trees, they stopped for lunch. Eating lunch in the car with his master was a privilege. Not many dogs enjoyed one like it, but his was an exceptional master.

Once more they were on their way, and there would be no more stops until camping time. He might as well turn around a couple of times, lie down, and go to sleep. After this nap, he felt refreshed and more alert to passing objects. So many automobiles, where were they all coming from, and where were those others all going? Big cars and little cars, of every make and description, all seemed to want to get there first.

How glad Jack was that his master was in no hurry! In fact, Mr. Wheeler never was known to be in a hurry about anything. This jogging along just suited Jack, too, and gave him time to make observations that would be impossible if they were tearing along. In every way his master was a comfortable person to live with; he would always stick to this good master.

Some of the other cars had dogs in them, and some were loaded with children. One fact that impressed Jack was that the larger, more comfortable, and apparently softer cushioned cars contained the smallest dogs, while the poor old flivvers, with the floppy curtains and wheezy engines, seemed to carry all the tired looking women and children. Also, if a faithful dog were brought along, he was compelled to ride in the most uncomfortable position on the running board, getting dust in his eyes and cramps in his legs.

While Jack pitied these poor unfortunate fellows, he was thankful that such was not his fate.

There was one large car that fairly dazzled his eyes with its shining, silver mountings. A negro was driving, and, as the car passed, Jack noticed that the only person in it was a very fat lady. On a silk pillow beside her was a mite of a dog, no larger than a skinned rat would be, but it was covered with a bushy coat of soft, silky hair, and looked like an over-grown, woolly worm. Jack was fond of teasing woolly worms, and that was why he thought of the comparison.

They were now approaching a long stretch of open country, and getting further away from familiar scenes. The cornfields, with corn in shocks, and yellow pumpkins strewn over the ground, bordered both sides of the road. Jack rabbits, quail and chipmunks were scampering in all directions, stirring Jack to a quiver of excitement. Wouldn’t his master stop and take a shot at them?

Then, just in front of them, sitting in the middle of the road, with its back to the oncoming car, he spied a fine specimen of a jack rabbit. Stopping the car, Mr. Wheeler cautiously took aim, and up in the air went the cottontail. With a bounce, Jack was there to catch it as it came back to earth, and he brought it to the car. Now, they would have fresh meat for supper, and how hungry he was!

They established their camp in a byroad. While the tent was being pitched, Jack was as helpful as he could be, lying on the loose ends of the canvas to keep the wind from blowing it away; at least, that was his idea of it. To be sure, his master said he was in the way, but masters are sometimes mistaken. Everything being set, and the rabbit browning nicely on the little camp stove, the smell made Jack’s mouth water with anticipation.

Then, what should drive up but a rickety old flivver, with a tired looking, thin lady, and a number of hungry children along with a cramped-up dog! They were a sorry lot from “York State,” bound for the “land of sunshine,” where the thin lady, who was really ill, hoped to regain her health. Jack was wishing they had hastened along.

Mr. Wheeler, being a kind-hearted man, welcomed the newcomers. As there were little children, and the mother looked so ill, his ready sympathy was aroused and he asked them to join him at his meal; and he was glad that he had something nourishing to offer them, in the way of coffee and rabbit, with plenty of bread and gravy for the little ones. It made him happy to see these hungry travelers eat until they were satisfied.

Jack did not enter with his master into the spirit of this benevolence. Instead he grew sulky, as nothing had been left for him but a few well picked bones. Feeling that Fate had played him an unkind trick, he felt revengeful, and that he must have satisfaction from some source. So he proceeded to take it out on the stiff-jointed dog. Going to the side of the car where the poor fellow was lying, Jack began sniffling contemptuously. All of his virtuous feelings concerning this crowd were gone. The other dog assumed an indifferent air, which only aggravated Jack more.

He began snapping at his victim’s heels, and that started it; the fight was on, which showed there was some spunk left in the other dog, even if he did not look the part. Over and over they rolled, snapping and snarling, and biting at one another. Jack, being the larger, seemed to be gaining on the under dog, when the blood of his adversary, who was part bull, began to boil, and grasping Jack by the neck, he held on with a death grip. At this turn of the battle, the owners of the two dogs came running up. They brought with them pails of water, sticks, and everything at hand that could be used to separate the fighting canines. Each began by beating the other’s dog, protesting that if one must be killed, it must not be theirs.

The lady brought an umbrella and helped, notwithstanding her weakened condition. Forcing the umbrella between her dog’s jaws, she managed to loosen his hold on Jack’s throat, by spreading it enough to break his grip. Jack then, feeling that the victory was his, retreated to have his wounds dressed.

This little unpleasantness was a dampener on the newly formed friendship between Mr. Wheeler and his guests. He felt that no longer did he wish to continue the acquaintance of these people, so he asked them to move on. They refused, and so he decided to break camp.

Mr. Wheeler made ready to continue on his trip. By this time the moon had risen, and, as there was less traffic than during the day, he decided he would drive on, as he would really make better time by doing so. He felt depressed by the circumstances that had forced an unpleasant ending to a perfect day; but he had learned a lesson from these events that would prove valuable on the rest of the journey.

Jack was trying to sleep on the back seat cushion. His back was sore; his pride was hurt, and, if that dog on the running board had been any stiffer than he felt, he hoped to know it.

The night driving was pleasant. The roads were smooth, and only occasionally Mr. Wheeler had to pull out for a passing car. Soon his spirits rose and, as they went on through the villages, he noticed the lights were cheerful. At some places there was music and dancing, and the ring of merry laughter filled the air.

It was after midnight when our travelers drove into a sheltering clump of scrubby oaks to spend the rest of the night. Mr. Wheeler, rousing Jack from off the back seat, curled up there himself and went to sleep. By morning, Jack was feeling better. Being in good health, he soon recovered from his skirmish with the strange dog. His throat was still sore, and the skin was torn, but it was healing nicely, and so was his pride.

The next night was uneventful, so they rested and were refreshed. They pushed on toward town for breakfast. Jack was allowed to eat on the back porch of the restaurant, after which he hopped into the front seat beside his master, ready for more observations.

They were now going through the prairie country, and they saw prairie dogs sitting on their haunches, looking like sentinels beside their homes. Jack would have liked a chance at one of them, to give it a good shake, but his wounds would not allow him to attempt it. Two jack rabbits were shot. Even in this sport, he was not feeling “peppy” enough to take part, although by supper time he was sufficiently recovered to enjoy his share of the good cheer. This time he got real meat. The bones were left, not even buried, which showed he was not really himself yet.

By the time the city of Denver was reached, Jack was fully recovered and very alert. Mr. Wheeler ran the car into a garage for repairs, and they started out to see the sights while waiting. As they were near the Capitol building, Mr. Wheeler thought he would like to go to the top, as all tourists do. Of course, Jack was not allowed to accompany him. An officer gave Jack permission to lie on the lawn and watch the squirrels at play.

Though he did not feel quite right about going without his dog, Mr. Wheeler began the ascent. When he reached the topmost balcony, he looked down to where he had left Jack. Imagine his horror at seeing the dog chasing one of the squirrels up a tree and barking his lustiest at it. He also saw an officer running toward Jack, and then beating him with a club until the dog howled louder and louder. Mr. Wheeler descended as fast as he could, which, on account of the narrowness of the steps, it was hard to do; and he found that the dog catcher had been called to take Jack to the pound. Nothing would do but that Mr. Wheeler must go along and settle with the chief.

Jack was loaded into a cage with a lot of other dogs. They were all snarling and snapping, but at heart they were very good dogs, who had been guilty only of some thoughtlessness, or some small fault perhaps that they did not know was wrong. Poor Jack!

The waiting room at the chief’s office was filled with irate men and women who had come to claim their various pets. All were sure a great injustice had been done; a great mistake had been made in taking up _their_ dogs.

Time dragged along for poor Jack. He thought he had been having trouble enough, since he had started on this pleasure trip, without this; and it all came about just because he was following a natural impulse, something for which he was in no way responsible. What a nuisance their old laws were, anyway!

Finally the room cleared, and Mr. Wheeler had a chance to present his case, and get Jack released. How glad Jack was that his beloved master had been watching, and was able to go with him and help him out of his predicament!

The next problem was how to get to the car, as the pound was in the outskirts of the city, and Jack would not be permitted to ride on the street car. Also it was much too far to walk. Something must be done quickly, for it was getting late. Beside the dog pound was a settlement of a certain class of merchants of the street, venders of old clothes, rags and old iron, necessary commodities of a sort, and there the horse-drawn vehicle was the mode of transportation.

While Mr. Wheeler was debating in his mind what to do, along came one of these merchants driving a half-starved horse. Noticing the look of perplexity on Mr. Wheeler’s face, he inquired, “What’s the trouble, Boss?” Then a bright idea entered Mr. Wheeler’s head. He told the man of his desire to get to another part of the city, but that he had no way to do so, and he wondered if it would be possible for the merchant to take them. The merchant, having had a rather bad day in his business, consented, thinking that here would be a way to make accounts balance. They did some quibbling over the charges, which Mr. Wheeler thought very “steep,” for he was asked to pay two fares for both of them. As he could not very well help himself, he agreed to the price, and they started. Thus they returned to their lodging.

Next morning, after both had enjoyed a good breakfast, they set out on the last lap of their journey. Following the old Santa Fe trail, they found the country they were passing through very interesting. Jack kept his eyes open and his ears pricked up.

He was attracted by the Indian Villages, where dogs were numerous and all seemed to be living happy-go-lucky lives. Really they looked too lazy to come in out of the rain, if it ever should rain, which it didn’t; therefore they were deprived of even this exercise.

For a long stretch nothing much occurred to interest them.

By noon they were nearing another town, a Mexican settlement. More lazy dogs were seen lying under any shelter that afforded shade from the blistering sun. Jack wondered what these dogs lived on. They looked well fed, for Mexican dogs, that never get fat. Seeing strings of something red hanging on fences and from nails driven into the houses, he wondered if it was meat. If so, where did they get it? If only his master would stop long enough, he would have liked to sample some of this drying beef. But Mr. Wheeler was getting very tired, having all the driving to do, and was anxious to get to his journey’s end. He would welcome the sight of the green pepper trees he had heard so much about. He was planning on stopping for a long rest at the first tourist camp they came to, and so he did as little stopping on the way as possible.

At last our travelers reached the land of sunshine and flowers. They were tired and travel-stained, but glad to be at their journey’s end. Their first night at the camp was a new experience. It seemed like a neighborhood meeting of some sort, all were so friendly and willing to tell of their experiences. Almost every one Mr. Wheeler met had either been through the town of Woodville, Iowa, or knew some one from there, or some one who had passed through there, so he felt quite at home among them.

Many had brought their dogs along, but Jack, after his experience with the strange dog during their trip, was more cautious about making advances. He had learned that the best policy was “to live and let live,” and so he got along very well with these dogs.

After getting rested and learning where was the best place for them to locate, man and dog moved into a pleasant suburb of one of the larger towns, taking rooms with a friendly widow, who was fond of dogs but cared very little for cats, which was agreeable to Jack. Now, he would get plenty of good things to eat and lots of attention. Although Jack was strictly a man’s dog, the arrangement suited him very well indeed.

One of the first things his master had to do was to buy a license for Jack. The dog must wear a collar with a number on the back, or some day the dog catcher would get him again. Jack was not very proud of his new collar, but, since collars were being worn, he must conform and get used to being a city dog.

Jack and the landlady, whose name was Mrs. Weir, became quite good friends, though he refused to be trained to any new habits. His old ones were good enough for him.

Mr. Wheeler, having good prospects of going into business, concluded to return to Woodville, sell his home, and locate permanently in California. Therefore he made preparations for the return trip and was soon ready to start. Jack, of course, was disappointed at not being included in the arrangement. He was left with Mrs. Weir, who was to give him every needed attention. He was tied up till Mr. Wheeler was well on his way, and did some lusty howling, which he kept up until the neighbors protested, and he was given his liberty.

No sooner was he loose than he took up the trail in pursuit of his beloved master. However, as Mr. Wheeler had several days’ start, it was impossible, even if he had made no stops, for Jack to overtake him. Jack did stop many times. He got very tired and hungry, having to depend on his own efforts for food. Most of his nights were spent in prowling around, hunting for a possible loosely covered garbage can, to get a meal. When he was out in the open spaces, he would catch any wild game he could. This all caused delays, so that, by the time he reached his old home town, his master was well on his way back.

Jack was very glad to see all the Higgins family, even the cat, and never once during his stay did he chase her up the tree, nor in any way annoy her. He had seen much of the world since last they met, and travel had broadened and made him more considerate of others, as a well mannered dog should be.

He was not satisfied--the place wasn’t the same--and he missed his master. So in a few weeks he was missing. Then, some months later, Mrs. Higgins received a letter from Mr. Wheeler saying that Jack had returned to California. Though very thin in body, he seemed none the worse for his adventures.

All the dogs thought this was a very fine story, and begged the Judge to tell them some more. So, at the next session, he told them a couple of brief narratives, one about a puppy and young turkey, and another about a blind man’s dog.

TOM AND DANIEL

“Many of you dogs who have never lived on a ranch or a farm, may not know that a dog and a tom turkey can be just as unfriendly as a dog and a cat,” said the Judge, as he thought of a story which illustrated this point.

“There seems to be a sort of jealousy between them, which manifests itself at a very early age, and develops into bitter hatred as they grow older. This was the case with Tom and the collie I am telling you of.

“The puppy and the turkey came into the world at about the same time, and the little lady who owned them divided her attention between them. Young turkeys are delicate little creatures and require the greatest care to get them started. The puppy was usually at the heels of his mistress when she fed the turkeys, but, instead of pretending to help, as he did with the little chickens, he would bark and snap at them, frightening them.

“In the flock there was one young Tom who early showed a disposition to defend himself, and his puppyship got many a peck on the nose. Thus began the trouble which led to war, and many a battle royal was fought between them, but there was never any bloodshed.

“Their maneuvering took place around the woodpile back of the house. The turkey would be strutting in all the glory of his brilliant plumage and war paint, arrogant and ready to battle any intruder. Along would come Daniel. With a war whoop of a gobble, Tom would start after the dog, and round and round the woodpile they would go, with Daniel just a few steps ahead of his pursuer, until, tired out, he would hop on to the woodpile and bark insultingly at his enemy. The turkey would puff up his feathers, drop his wings, spread out his tail, and look as if he were bursting with rage.

“When he could stand it no longer, Tom would fly at Daniel, who knew the tactics of the bird, and would dodge to one side, so that his majesty would land on the other side. This was just what Daniel had in mind when he mounted the fort; and now it was his chance to be the pursuer instead of the pursued. Again around and around they would go, until both were almost exhausted.

“The lady decided to sell the young gobbler, and he was taken several miles to a new home, and Daniel was left to his possessions.

“One day, several months after Tom’s departure, the lady had occasion to go to the place where the gobbler was sold. She took the dog with her and left him in the car while she did her errand.

“Returning to the car, she found Daniel gone. Then she heard a familiar bark, answered by a warlike gobble, and she saw that a battle was on between the two warriors, as of old. Instead of the woodpile, a small building was their fortress this time. Not only a dog never forgets, but a turkey gobbler seems to be neither a forgiver nor a forgetter.

“That is all of that story,” the Judge told his audience, “and next time I am going to tell you about a blind man’s dog.”

THE BLIND MAN’S DOG